


The Games We Play

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Series: The Rules of the Game [1]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a strictly RG affair. We can play at being normal.” Joshua raises one hand to adjust Neku’s headphones over his hair, one bang curling free, and it’s an elegant, minimal gesture, completely unaffected. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I think.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [subarashiki_ds](http://subarashiki-ds.livejournal.com/)'s Secret Santa 2011 exchange, to the prompt: Joshua/Neku, just an ordinary day in the aftermath of the Game when Neku's used to occasional visits from Joshua just to chat and laugh and be silly.

It's still a bit of a novel feeling, to hang out with friends. Neku's at Hachiko, people-watching, sketching out jackets and accessories and that quirky hat with Shiki leaning over his shoulder, occasionally adding bizarre fashion phrases like "handkerchief hem" and "fishtail cut," eyeing the passersby like they are models on a runway. It's a bit weird but comfortable, and it's almost enough to make the three long weeks in the Game feel like a dream.   
  
"Eri's going to kill someone if she sees that," Shiki mutters, her voice half admiring and half critical, and Neku follows her gaze to a tall brunette in long jacket. It fits oddly and oddly well, opened-collared, practically falling off the girl's shoulders but holding on by some feat of tailoring, elegant despite the way it's defying gravity.   
  
Neku eyes the jacket, tries to put it down in lines, but he doesn't have Eri's eye for the perfect design and it doesn't look quite right, at least to him. But Shiki is smiling as she gazes down at the sketch; fashion's not his forte, so if it makes Shiki happy, then that's good enough for Neku.  
  
They've been a tight team ever since coming back, him, Shiki, Beat and Rhyme, but Neku takes special care with Shiki. She's a little quieter, a little calmer in her real form, dark eyes serious behind her glasses, but Shiki shines best when she's comfortable with the people she's with, and when Neku insisted on accompanying her as she waits for Eri , no ifs and buts, her smile was all but glowing.   
  
"You're going to be up all night with Eri again, aren't you?"   
  
Shiki isn't quite as bold and bubbly as she was when wearing Eri's form, but there is no mistaking the confidence in her nod, the steady openness of her gaze as she studies Neku's sketches, no longer afraid to dream.   
  
When Eri shows up, the two girls will deconstruct every pattern Neku has sketched out, then build it up from the ground up, blending ideas and concepts and their own inspiration into something new, better, trendier, edgier. They do this sometimes, when inspiration doesn’t hit Eri directly; the transformation of something familiar into something incredibly new, Shiki explains, can at times make a greater impact. It's amazing, watching them, and although Neku's just there peripherally, helping when Eri isn't around, he still feels the creative energy pouring off them, pulling him in.   
  
"I think Eri wants to design something on you." Shiki plucks the pen from Neku's hand and doodles a few lines on the side, a spiky-haired model, some looped circles for headphones. She laughs and hands the pen back. "I'm going to sew whatever she comes up with, but here's your advanced warning. Eri's thinking of jackets. Headphones and caps. Some blend of the two. You're going to have to model."   
  
Neku's laughing and protesting at the same time, only half serious; Shiki is smiling that small, sweet smile that's completely hers and--   
  
It's not a sound and it's not a touch but Neku's head jerks up, on instinct. It's almost no effort at all; his gaze arrows towards the road leading to the Underpass and there Joshua is, standing in the spaces between the crowd, Shibuya flowing around him even though no one else can see him there.   
  
Joshua lifts a graceful hand, waves, and Neku just knows he's smirking, stupid,  _stupid_  Composer.   
  
"Neku? Are you okay?"   
  
Shiki is possibly the only person who could draw Neku's gaze away from Joshua at that moment. "I'm fine," he says automatically, but when he meets Shiki's eyes she's giving him one of those determined, "I think you're hiding something from me, Neku" looks.   
  
Her gaze flickers from Neku to the direction he'd been staring at, and she finally plants her fist on one hip. "It's him, isn't it?"  
  
Neku scowls, and that pretty much answers the question right there, but instead of looking alarmed, Shiki just appears thoughtful.   
  
His phone chimes, and Neku digs it out of his pocket, already knowing who has texted him.   
  
_Having fun, dear?_    
  
Neku glances up, and sure enough, Joshua's no longer there. Probably off to do whatever Composers do in their spare time, which unfortunately includes dropping into Neku’s RG life every so often. Neku discovers this almost entirely by accident; Joshua has a habit of watching him, and somehow Neku always senses when he's about. It just took him a while to translate the sense of weight and familiarity into “you’ve picked up an almost-all powerful stalker who likes watching you from tall buildings and the shadows.”   
  
Neku can't figure out if not knowing would be better.   
  
_Stop being such a creepy stalker_ , he types back, proper Japanese, no slang, punctuation in place; the last time he tried using shorthand on Joshua, his phone had rang continuously for the next fifteen minutes with the most obnoxious, high-pitched girly pop song as the ringtone. Neku takes a special pride in defying Joshua any chance he gets, but some battles just aren't worth the effort.   
  
_Just adding a little spice to your daily life. It wouldn’t do for you to get too complacent._  
  
“Prissy jackass,” Neku mutters under his breath, resisting the urge to type and send just that in a message, but his phone chimes again before he can talk himself out (or into) it.   
  
_I’ll be at the 104._    
  
Just like that. Neku shuts off his phone, not even bothering to type a reply; they both know Neku will go, and for Neku it’s almost a matter of self-preservation to keep the Composer in sight and amused, rather than to let the Composer amuse himself. He drops his phone into his pocket.  
  
Shiki is studying him when Neku looks up. Neku twirls his pen in his hands, not entirely sure what to say.   
  
“You can go first if you have to,” Shiki offers, and Neku shakes his head immediately.   
  
“I’m not leaving you here on your own.”   
  
Shiki tugs a bang behind one ear, her arm held in a way that suggests years of doing so with a stuffed animal tucked in the crock of her elbow. She doesn’t bring Mr. Mew out with her as often anymore, although the stuffed cat-pig is a regular at any indoor gatherings they have. “I’ll be fine. He’s—” and Shiki’s voice drops, “—the Composer, right? You shouldn’t keep him waiting. And…”   
  
She pauses for a moment, and then she’s waving her arms in that familiar flailing way, an action that’s so Shiki that Neku can’t help smiling. “You really shouldn’t call him a jackass, Neku, really! Even if he deserves it!”   
  
Neku watches Shiki, still smiling a little. “No, I think I really should,” he says, and twirls his pen through his fingers, as easily as flipping through pins.   
  
Neku doesn't do what he's supposed to do, not anymore. He has always been a little bit of a rebel, skirting the edges but staying on this side the acceptable social norm; even as a loner who had pushed the world away from him, he had always kept his grades up. He ignored and thought derisively of people in his head at turns, but he wasn't one to pick fights. Even his art - it was always confined to the music from his headphones, the angry scrawls he puts all over his notebook. That's part of what drew Neku to the mural, CAT's philosophy and the sheer artistic freedom in his art offering Neku the escape he always craved.   
  
Three weeks in the Game, and Neku's not quite the same anymore. He's still a good student, keeps his curfews, doesn't worry his parents, but he has no qualms on getting down and dirty and completely headachy with paint fumes or hanging out with Shiki all the time despite the snickering remarks they both get ("attached to your girlfriend much, Sakuraba?"); they're not like that, and that's totally okay.   
  
Doing what he's supposed to do means he should be home doing his homework instead of staying out with Shiki. It means he should be focusing on the hard subjects, calculus and physics and chemistry and joining the student council to get into Tokyo U instead of painting boards and inking designs all day. It means that he should have shot Joshua during that final Game, with all of Shibuya hanging in the balance. It was what he was supposed to do; Joshua certainly thought so, and no. Neku’s not playing that game.   
  
“Neku…” Shiki’s giving him one of those looks again, faint concern behind the slight exasperation.   
  
“It’ll do him some good for someone not to follow his whims all the time. He’ll get bored otherwise.” Neku shrugs. “It definitely makes  _me_  feel better about it all.”   
  
Neku’s scowling again, doesn’t realize he’s doing so until Shiki pokes a finger into his cheek, laughing quietly. “He keeps you from getting bored too, though.”  
  
His phone rings, right at that moment; they both stare at it, and then Shiki reaches out, takes the phone and opens it, passing it back to Neku as the text message loads, but not before they both can see who it’s from.   
  
No contact entry details, no photograph, just the name in katakana.   
  
_Belts and straps are all the rage now, across all the brands. You do wear a fair amount of Tigre Punks, don’t you?_    
  
Neku has to resist the urge to smash his head against the low wall they’re sitting on or maybe against the statue of Hachiko itself. Temporary amnesia would make a great excuse for ignoring Joshua’s messages, maybe go home and stay safe from whatever manic dress-up excursion the Composer has planned.   
  
Shiki is looking at him with a quiet sort of smile, almost bemused. She hops off the low wall, brushing off her skirt and flipping open her own phone, scrolling through the menus. “I’ll go find Eri,” she tells him, “We can work on the sketch designs later, okay?”   
  
“Shiki—”  
  
“I’m fine,” she tells him, eyes serious behind her glasses, one hand on her hip, a gesture picked up from Eri. “We’re all fine, and – well, he’s the Composer and I don’t really know him, but you enjoy your time with him, scowls and all. Just tell me if you’re ever… not fine, okay? And we can, I don’t know, smack some sense into him together.”   
  
She reaches out to touch Neku’s cheek, very briefly, and then she’s gone with a wave, leaving Neku with an open sketchbook, a text message and a waiting Composer.   
  


*

  
The Scramble is packed, as always, flooded with students and businessmen and shoppers, the people of Shibuya from all walks of life. Neku doesn’t like crowds much but he knows how to navigate the moving, ever changing maze of people, making his way steadily towards the 104. He watches for the gaps between shoppers, the breath of free space into which he can maneuver into, but Neku’s entirely aware that he’s listening for that particular chime of sounds, the sense of presence that stands in harmony but completely apart from everything else.   
  
There is absolutely no sense of personal space in the Scramble, but a hand brushes idly against Neku’s shoulder and he – doesn’t jump, but he whips around, hearing that familiar music.  
  
Joshua keeps the touch light and nonchalant; he’s in the RG, the crowd flowing around them, only one or two glares for the two boys who are blocking the way, and Neku has to step a little closer as the crowd surges, Joshua’s hand falling away naturally.   
  
“I thought you said you’d be at the 104.”   
  
“If I don’t come to you, maybe you’ll never find me.”   
  
Neku doesn’t answer, simply pulls his headphones more firmly over his ears, although he’s not playing any music. Joshua says it flippantly, but there’s the ring of truth behind his words; it’s not like Neku can follow him into the UG, not that he has any particular desire to.   
  
“I can’t find you, maybe, but Mr. H can,” Neku mutters, stubborn to the end, and he matches Joshua stare for stare. “Can’t imagine why I’d bother, though, it’s not like you don’t drop in every other week at the very least.”   
  
Joshua laughs; Neku shouldn’t hear him above the loud, indecipherable blend of voices and traffic, would prefer  _not_  to hear the giggle that is entirely Joshua’s, but he’s the Composer in the heart of his own district, so seven impossible things before and after breakfast is perfectly feasible.   
  
“Are you free tonight?”   
  
Neku has that homework he’s put off, waiting and people-watching with Shiki, a midterm to study for next week – and Joshua’s watching him, eyes amused, already knowing Neku will make the time before asking, school a priority behind his friends and his art.  
  
“What are you thinking of doing?” Neku says cautiously, not quite ready to lay down his all his cards, and he’s entirely justified, when Joshua brushes his hair from his face, casual, and says, “Let’s go clubbing.”   
  
“Wha—” Neku stares hard at Joshua, trying to gauge if he’s being jerked around, but Joshua gazes back at him serenely, a hint of a smirk in his smile. “You. Want to go clubbing.”   
  
“Mmhm.”   
  
Even if he didn’t know about the whole Composer business, Neku can’t quite imagine Joshua in a packed club, heat and noise and sweat everywhere. Or maybe he can; there’s the image of Joshua battling at the back of Neku’s mind, whirling expertly as he taps out commands on his cell phone or the blaze of energy, pure and powerful, the sheer force of it flinging Joshua’s hair from his face, giggling.   
  
He trusts Joshua, but Neku’s not stupid. “Why?”   
  
“Underground, independent bands.” Joshua flips open that familiar orange phone of his and hits a series of buttons in swift succession. ” Amateur artists fueled with the vibrancy of youth, the spark of raw creativity. Aren’t you at all curious about the Shibuya you saved?”  
  
Joshua says this with a certain amount of croon in his voice, calculated to set Neku on edge, and so Neku brushes it off with some effort, narrowing his eyes. He’s picked up a few things from what Joshua doesn’t say, the scattered hints Mr. H leaves.   
  
“Is it dangerous, you in the RG and at a point of creativity like that?”  
  
“Oh, but that’s life, Neku. There’s always some danger involved, no matter how minute.” Joshua grins at him, purple eyes glittering faintly in the growing dark. He reaches over, pulls off Neku’s headphones and settles it over his head, looking far too pleased about it all. “That’s why you’re coming along, dear.”   
  
And god, it’s like standing at the top of a tower during a lightning storm or the memory of the swirl of flames dancing around him, but more personal, warmth within his vein. It’s insanely dangerous, with Joshua smiling at him just like that time down in his throne room, just moments before pulling the trigger, and Neku’s still standing there.   
  
His last entry fee must have been his sense of self-preservation.   
  
“I have school tomorrow,” Neku says. “There better not be any fireworks. No visitors from the UG or surprises up your sleeve.”   
  
“It’s a strictly RG affair. We can play at being normal.” Joshua raises one hand to adjust Neku’s headphones over his hair, one bang curling free, and it’s an elegant, minimal gesture, completely unaffected. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I think.”  
  
Neku runs his hands through his hair, the wind ruffling it up; it flies around a bit, without the headphones to anchor some of it in place. “Fine,” Neku says, because once he’s made up his mind he doesn’t waste time waffling on it. “Let’s grab dinner first; I am not hitting any underground clubs with you on an empty stomach…”   
  
Neku isn’t in the habit of trailing off mid-thought – he’s a little more eloquent than that, thanks – but the realization is creeping on him. Dinner, and clubbing, and he’ll probably have to pay for both, because Joshua might be the Composer but he has a tendency to materialize things into existence rather than pay for them, and it’s starting to sound more and more like a date and Joshua’s standing next to him, Neku’s headphones over his ears, humming quietly to himself. Looks up, when he feels Neku staring, arcs an eyebrow.   
  
Neku doesn’t do what he’s supposed or even expected to do, so he simply rolls his eyes and says, “Let’s bounce.”   
  
“And here we go.” Joshua turns, and here in the RG he has to contend with the other pedestrians, but even this he does gracefully, weaving through the crush of bodies almost effortlessly. Neku follows closely, passing by a cluster of girls in St. Ursula uniform gossiping about boys and the latest lipstick, salary men discussing which bar to go to for the after work drink, a trio of Tin Pin players comparing pin stats as they walk past. Some of them look up, a girl with a potted cactus in her hands grinning as Neku skirts around her dangerous bundle, but beyond those moments of contact no one bothers him or Joshua.   
  
It should feel weird that to everyone else they really are just two boys in the middle of the Scramble, wandering about the district after school, about to hit the underground clubs. They’re not normal, not Joshua with the layer of Shibuya’s Music still curled around him, power and protection and ownership, or Neku, who can hear that and more, the melody that is the Composer’s own Music, through the pact that still exists between them.   
  
It’s not normal at all, and yet it is very, perfectly normal for them when Joshua grabs his elbow, steering him towards Ramen Don, and Neku grumbles, annoyed, but doesn’t shake off Joshua’s hand.


End file.
